Winter Greens and Slow Dancing
by iluvobiwan91
Summary: "Sometimes I'd hold those girls like I'm holding you, now. But I was just a boy, then…" James pulled his head back a little now to look down at her, something more than just affection in his eyes. "And I wasn't holding a woman, like I am now." Sequel to "Finding a Lark" Continuing Bucky and Lark's relationship... this would be where that relationship "officially" starts.


After their first meeting with Lark—and another short visit on her way back through—a month had passed before they saw the young woman again. It was Steve who came upon her this time, seeing her drive up in a jeep just as snow was starting to make its first landing. He welcomed her like an old friend, hugging her tightly and joking about Dakota's absence. She laughed and responded with something clever, but he could see in her eyes, she wanted to know about Bucky. Steve's smile faltered a bit as they climbed in the vehicle and drove the last stretch back up to the house. "What is it, Steve?" Lark, perceptive as she was, had learned to read him quite well.

His eyes were apologetic and he sighed wearily. "It's been a long week. He's hardly slept; and there are so many night terrors when he does. The flashbacks are sudden, and we've had it out physically a few times before he calms down and comes back to himself." Raking fingers through his hair, Steve looked at her sidelong and made a straight line of his mouth. "It might not be so good that you're here, Lark."

Frowning at the situation, and certainly disheartened, the woman watched the road ahead before glancing at her friend. "I'd like to see him, Steve. And maybe we can just go from there." There was a bit of question in her tone, because she understood that Steve was not only Bucky's friend, but also his guardian. At length, she earned a nod and a reluctant 'okay.'

They pulled up to the house after a few minutes more and Steve went on in to let Bucky know who was here, giving Lark time to grab a few things from the back. While her hands arranged some things into crates, her eyes watched the front porch where her tall, dark, and handsome slowly emerged and lingered on the top step as Steve passed him.

"Can I help?" Steve, ever chivalrous, forced a smile and was handed a crate overflowing with groceries.

"You want to start us some dinner? I brought you some fresh essentials." Again, she glanced at the porch. "James can get these with me, Steve, thank you." Understanding her, the blonde nodded and returned to the house as he picked through the foodstuffs in his arms. "Can you help me with the rest, James?" Lark didn't shout or make it an over-enthusiastic request, but made eye contact with the man and smiled gently. She wanted no pretense between them. He was a strong, grown man and she would not coddle him.

Finally, he approached slowly and looked at the other crates she'd managed to fit in the jeep with her, some sitting on bags full of topsoil, others filled with gardening tools and seed packets. His attention shifted when he felt Lark's hand on his left arm, flinching a little before he looked down at her. "Hi." She said simply, her eyes bright blue and cheeks a little flushed from the cold weather settling in.

"Hi, Lark." James' response really seemed to give her ease, as if a barrier had been broken, and her eyes crinkled at the corners slightly before she nodded to the bags of soil and reached for the other two crates herself.

"I don't know if you guys like greens, but they're a good winter vegetable. I thought we could make a bed by the house and cover it to start growing some." Bucky took all five of the hefty bags in one load, three over his left shoulder and two under his right arm, and couldn't quite define the type of look on Lark's face when she saw him following her easily. Her cheeks were darker. "When we cook them, I'll make some cornbread to go with it. It's good with a lot of butter." She was talking over her shoulder to him, and he listened silently.

For a couple hours they worked like this; Lark helping him put up a frame and laying a tarp over the area, Bucky taking the tools she brought or that they found to till out rocks and grass, and eventually both of them on their hands and knees pulling out weeds, pouring topsoil over, and planting in kale, turnips, collards, and swiss chard. She would talk a little, to instruct him, or absently mention something about life that was pleasant and maybe mildly frustrating. He didn't contribute to the conversation. "I'd say this is nice, but I know you don't like that word." Smirking over at him, Lark dug her hands further into the dirt to get the deep root of a weed out.

Just now, and a few times earlier, Bucky felt her notice his left hand covered in a glove where his right was bare, but she never asked him about it. Explaining the arm would mean explaining everything, it was all connected. But in his mind, it was all as fragmented as shrapnel in his mind. Sometimes he felt like shrapnel would be simpler, less painful than glimpses of the horrors he'd dealt out or the detailed tortures he'd endured, refracting in the light of memory to show a thousand sensitized facets.

James looked down and realized his body had tensed, his right arm shaking and his left was clenching through the soil. "_Lark, _I'm—" Beginning was more difficult than he thought, with the feel of gravel in his throat and his jaw clenching, his voice was just as tense as the rest of him. "I'm not… _normal_." Shaking, Bucky roughly stripped the glove off his left hand and revealed the metal digits that moved in a sickening mirror to his other hand.

Lark watched him carefully, wishing she could wrap him in her arms, but hoping she understood what he needed, and when. "No, you're not." She began slowly, measuring his physical response, the look in his harrowed eyes as he stared at the arm. "But you're still _human_, James. You're alive." Voice even, without patronizing him, Lark only glanced at his hand as she slowly eased down to her knees beside him.

"I've… _murdered_ so many—" He breathed, revulsion catching in his throat.

"You're not that man anymore, James." Lark's voice was firm now, earning his focus when he finally turned her way.

"I watched the Soldier take them apart. I saw _everything_ he did… that _I_ did—"

"You are _not him_, James." With a stronger voice, Lark came to kneel in front of him now, their faces close and her hands at his jaw. Taking in his appearance, Lark could see his guilt overcoming him for what he remembered. His face crumpled, eyes glistening and jaw still tight in an effort for control, but the emotions had ravaged enough and defeated him for now. Slowly, Lark leaned in and pressed her lips for a long moment to each of his beautiful eyes, her fingers stroking the hair at his nape and her voice a poignant whisper. "You're not."

It was a while longer before he settled down, and by then the cold had cut into her hands and through her wrappings. While Lark went straight for the fireplace, Bucky turned away and mentioned taking a shower. Once the door could be heard shutting, Steve made his way over to her and asked how it went.

"I'm glad you told me a little about the both of you, and your histories. I didn't know about his arm, though. I'm sure there's an _infinite_ amount of things I'm also unaware of." With a sigh, the woman shook her head and looked down at the dirt on her hands.

Steve's face was guilty now. "I didn't tell you about his arm because I figure you'd come to that yourselves soon enough. I thought that might be best for him to show you himself."

"No, it was. I'm glad he wanted to show me that on his own, as hard as that was to do."

"At night it's the memories and flashbacks, then during the day he just goes over it again and again. He's going to kill himself with guilt." When he put it in those words, Lark's blood ran cold.

Taking his arm in a solid grip, the woman's eyes were alive with grief as they met Steve's. "We won't let that happen. I _can't_—" She took a moment to control her voice once more, sniffing before looking at him with determination. "I know you love him more than anything, Steve, and that's what he needs. I want to help as much as I can, if you'll let me stay a while."

Steve's hand covered her own, dirt and all, and they shared an understanding gaze. "You haven't known us long, but I know you care about Bucky a lot. It means so much, honestly."

Lark blushed a bit, and looked at her hands for a minute. "I should really wash up if I'm going to get in the kitchen." She shared a thoughtful look with him before standing up to go lather at the sink, scrubbing diligently until there were no more dark lines under her fingernails. It took a bit of doing, but when she had finished Bucky was out and in a clean, loose grey t-shirt and sweats, hair mussed and damp, and very handsome. Without hesitation, he met her gaze and held it until he sat across the island from her, elbows propped expectantly on the counter.

"Hi." With a sweet smile, Lark flicked the back of his hand lightly before turning around to see what Steve had started on their supper. They sat down in the living room around the fire, each with a bowl of French onion soup Steve had masterfully worked on while they were outside, and a slice of buttered sourdough from the loaf Lark had brought. The warmth was just right, and Lark frequently looked out the windows to see how much snow had fallen, a little smile always on her lips each time she checked.

James watched her calmly, and Steve watched his friends with relief, seeing that Bucky was certainly more relaxed than he'd been all week. He remembered the record player that Sam had given him and that Bucky seemed to enjoy the music when he'd set it up in New York. It was in a closet here, just in case. "Hey, you guys want to listen to some music?" Lark perked up and looked at Steve with a cheerful nod. "I'll be right back."

He returned to find Lark situated a little closer to Bucky on the couch, talking softly so that it was difficult to hear. Not that he minded. They could have as many private conversations as they liked, as far as Steve was concerned. With a little smile, he set up the record player and carefully put on a vinyl. Soon Louis Armstrong's brass was coming from the more modern speakers and Lark's grin was like a sunrise on her face. It was Billie Holiday's "Dream a Little Dream of Me" and the young woman curled up on the couch, one arm propping her head on the back so she could look between her two friends as the song played through, taking them all someplace different.

A steady rhythm to more Louis Armstrong "When You're Smiling" came on next, and Bucky's attention was fully given to Lark, who was listening contentedly. Her eyes would slip shut and only open to peek at him every now and then, her leg swinging in time until he felt hypnotized by it. A slow smile changed his face, and James reached his hand over to her. "Do you want to dance?"

Eyes open completely now, Lark looked at him in pleasant surprise and nodded, taking his hand easily as he rose to pull her up with him. A warm right arm circled her waist and slightly cool fingers cradled hers carefully, guiding her naturally as though he'd done this a hundred times before. Lark fit rather closely against him and was happy to slide her arm up over the back of his shoulders, a fond gaze between them that she thought even showed an extra bit of charm in his smolder. "I like this." Murmured gently, her eyes lowered to his whiskered chin before glancing up through her lashes.

Was that a _knowing_ look he shot over her shoulder at Steve? He couldn't be bothered to keep his eyes away from her long, though, and James let his fingers press a little more firmly to the small of her back, leading her to step back with him and turn gradually around to the swell of the music. When it changed again, Ray Charles' "I've Got A Woman," he caught the spark in her eyes and knew. Changing his hold on her hands for swing dancing, Bucky winked and began an easy basic step that she followed quickly. There was that spark, again, and he knew she could hold her own. So, he led her through several grapevines and a cuddle until Lark was grinning, stepping in perfect rhythm with him.

Letting her hand slide around his waist in a turn, Lark laughed delightfully and cast a look over at Steve, who was tapping his heel and grinning up at the two of them dancing in front of the fire. "Are we leaving you out?"

"Nah, I'm used to holding down the table and watching Buck dance with the gal." He held up his hand and smirked with a pleasant nostalgia about his expression. "You guys are really cuttin' a rug." As if in response to the compliment, Bucky pulled her into a holding cuddle and stepped the basic as he held her close to his side. Lark's cheeks were satisfyingly flushed and every time she looked at James his eyes were keen on her.

Eventually the songs were slow again and Lark was wrapped in James' arms, his body always guiding hers just the way he wanted so that now her right hand was resting gently on his chest, his metal hand keeping it there with a heat that lingered from all their dancing. Now that his head tilted down and their cheeks were touching, Bucky's voice was a tangible warmth against her neck. "When I had a date, I'd bring Steve along, or find him a girl so we could all go out doubles. We'd dance like this, or go see a picture…"

As he spoke, Lark put the pieces together along with what Steve had already told her, especially the fact that they'd literally been friends since before WWII. The way he was dancing with her, the look he'd had in his eyes since Steve put the music on, every word he said, Lark knew this was the old James. And to use his less-than-favorite word—the old James was _nice_. Nice enough, that she didn't give it a second thought when his lips touched her hair while he told her little stories, or that his hand pressed flush to the small of her back again to keep them together.

"Sometimes I'd hold those girls like I'm holding you, now. But I was just a boy, then…" James pulled his head back a little now to look down at her, something more than just affection in his eyes. "And I wasn't holding a _woman_, like I am now."

Lark's face felt as hot as if she'd downed a shot of whiskey and bent over the fireplace for a while. Nat King Cole was singing "(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons" and the crooner gave her permission to stroke her fingers up Bucky's neck and into short, dark hair even slower than their hips had begun to sway. "And are you a man, now?" She asked quietly, to match his lowered tone of voice, enjoying the feel of his heartbeat beneath her palm.

"I'm trying real hard to be." He was looking at her so earnestly now.

"As far as I'm concerned, that's the most important part." She whispered.

He stopped their swaying finally, realizing the music had ended. A glance to the side told him the fire was dying and Steve had already gone upstairs to leave them be. Lark's eyes were dark blue and so beautiful looking up at him like that, like anything he gave her would make her whole. "Lark, I want to be a good man for you." Shaking his head slightly afterward, Bucky's gaze dropped to where his metallic fingers were laced with hers. "I've got a long way to go." He sighed; jaw working again like it did when he was unsure.

"James…" After a moment he answered the summons in her voice and she couldn't help but think how that troubled brow made him look so young. "If it makes you a better man, you take as much from me as you need. You _want_ this, you're trying… and that _already_ makes you a good man. If there's something in me, _anything_—" Lark's voice broke in her fervency, but she recovered, holding his hand tightly. "You take it, James, because I'll give it."

Later Bucky would remember it being three full heartbeats before he covered her mouth with his own. With a sigh, Lark melted into the embrace and kissed him softly in return for the steady, but unmoving, pressure of his lips. While his dancing had come back with muscle-memory and skill, James could remember none of the kisses he was certain he'd shared with women before. He couldn't force himself to be sorry for that, either. Right now, Lark was all he knew, and he was more than willing to let her teach him.

She was so patient, taking time to pause and breathe, allowing him to memorize every curve and color of her face before they met once more with lips together. It was not frantic, but thorough, and once he had his first taste, Bucky was in no way eager to cut this moment short. James held her by the waist with a strong grip and felt one of her slighter hands come up to tangle in his hair, the other laying on his ribs to feel the deep breaths that shuddered out of his lungs.

Drawing back a little, he looked down at her in awe while his fingers reached to cradle her face. "_Lark_." His voice was hoarse as he whispered her name, something broken in him begging use of this woman to fit back together. Lark pulled him over to the couch and sat the tall man down, tucking her legs beneath her and nestling into his side before guiding his weighty left arm to circle her waist. Hesitantly, James fastened that arm wrapped into her side and let his right hand come to rest at the crook of her knee.

This position had efficiently left both her hands free to tilt his head against hers with warmth in each touch and flushed faces. Kissing like this, so calm with Lark's steady breathing acting as a template for his own, it was a peace James couldn't recall ever feeling. It couldn't last.

Lark woke up on the couch by herself, the fire long gone and a frigid draft blowing where her feet dangled off the cushions. Shivering from that chill and the suddenness of waking up, she jolted upright at the sound of groaning behind her. The doors to the back porch were opened wide and there James stood, hunched over facing out into the snowy darkness. He sounded in pain, and Lark was quick to get on her feet and go to him, whispering and talking softly to call to him. "James? James, honey, it's okay. I promise, it's all right, you—"

She was cut off by Bucky's sudden screams, clutching his head as he collapsed to his knees and bent almost in half, rigid with pain and shaking forcefully. Frightened to tears for him, Lark called out for Steve and crouched so that she could reach out for this poor man in such severe distress. With one hand she touched his arm cautiously, but it was not _her James_ who took violent hold of her wrist and whipped her body hard onto the snow-covered decking, poised above her with panic in his eyes.

"_Bucky!_" Steve was running toward them when the Soldier loosed his hold, leaving Bucky to fall back off of Lark and sit in the snow with fear, confusion, and then instantly guilt staining his face. Steve quickly tended to Lark, who was trembling almost as much as James, now. "Are you all right? You're not hurt?" Quietly, he asked her, but Lark's eyes were only on James with tears of sorrow.

"I'm fine. I'm okay." She assured him breathlessly, watching as Steve turned to Bucky now and took him by the arms, touching him with care while the other man cried brokenly. A few minutes more and Lark found herself following their trail of snow leading inside, closing the doors after her and leaving a melting mess in her own steps as she went upstairs after them. Steve had laid him on his own bed—the one Bucky had laid her on that first night she stayed—and was talking calmly to the tortured man, exhaustion easily heard in his tone. This was no rare occurrence. "They can't hurt you again, Buck. They can't make you do those things anymore…"

The woman pulled her arms tight about herself and watched from the doorway, her heart breaking at the scene. These were two war-hardened men who had seen more than anyone ever should; and one who was forced to watch as the enemy he once fought against used his body as their chief weapon. It was unimaginable. With quiet steps, she left and went to get a couple water bottles and blankets, returning to find Bucky staring blankly across the room and Steve's head bowed as he sat on the bed pinching his brow. Touching his shoulder kindly, Lark handed him a water bottle and looked on him with compassion.

He murmured a 'thanks,' but didn't take a drink, only heaving a sigh before standing up tall again. "I should get that fire back going if we're going to warm this place up again." She rubbed his arm and Steve touched her hand with a forced smile before moving to go back downstairs.

That distant look in James' eyes seemed to focus when he felt her warmth sit beside him and she opened the water to encourage him to take a drink. After he had obliged her, Lark pulled the covers further up and arranged the other blanket on top, stroking her hands tenderly up both his arms and finally touching his face gently. Guilt burned in his veins and James looked at her with sorrow. "I hurt you." His voice was miserable.

Lark shook her head. "I'm all right." She answered softly.

Bucky sat upright slowly; taking hold of the wrist he remembered taking too harshly. There were red marks where his grip had been. "My metal arm didn't make these." He looked at the bruises and then into her eyes, feeling wretched. "You shouldn't stay here. I might—"

Loving, pliant lips pressed to his mouth cut him off. "I'm staying, James. Don't you worry about me." She murmured against his lips.

His eyes were still shut and her face close enough to feel breath blowing in shallow exhales. "I _do_ worry." The words were almost frustrated, certainly concerned.

"That's why I know you'll come out of this. It won't always be this bad."

"Sometimes it's worse." James added quietly.

"I know."

"Worse than bruises, Lark." He was warning her, his brow creased and eyes painfully reluctant. "I want to _protect_ you."

That struck her in such a loving way that Lark reexamined her motives, wondering if she was being too selfish and stubborn about this. Today had changed so many things about her relationship with these men, and maybe she needed to realize they were both man enough to care whether she was safe or not, not just if she was right. "Let's just see tomorrow through, and we'll take it from there." It's a weak repetition of what she'd offered Steve when she got there, but it satisfies James for the moment and Lark kisses him tenderly to end the discussion for now.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky very slowly slips his arms around her waist and pulls Lark back into a hug, holding her fast and burying his head in her neck. When had he ever held someone like this? His thoughts darted from monstrous to mundane so often that he couldn't settle on finding anything in him so ardent and honest as the intimacy he and Lark had found tonight. The only person who—still living—could claim having stood by him in thick of things was Steve. Bucky wasn't sure anyone else could measure up, couldn't even believe how his _best friend_ had managed to forgive all his sins and still work so hard to help. Then he'd almost shot a beautiful woman in the mountains, and all it took was talking with her and touching her hair to rediscover the desire and need to be a man again.

Bucky _needed_ to get better so that he could protect her.


End file.
